


Chasing Forever

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Non-Explicit, Possible infidelity triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: After a shocking turn of events, Hermione worries her marriage isn't as strong as she thought.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 77
Kudos: 299
Collections: round 12 2020





	Chasing Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This story touches on the topic of infidelity. While there isn't any infidelity, it is a huge part of the narrative. Please proceed cautiously with that in mind.

===

It’s late. Hermione doesn’t know exactly _how_ late, but there are still people talking, nobody quite ready to leave the festive and celebratory mood. She can’t quite believe that the case they’ve been working on for over a year is finished. The guilty parties have been found guilty, and the precise dose of justice her team had requested has been ordered. The final ruling came late, but nobody was in a hurry to end the jubilation. She’s had two glasses of champagne and looks at everyone with a lazy smile.

Theo sinks into the chair beside her and casually throws his arm around her. She leans her head on his shoulder, content with the world, and he gives her an easy kiss on the head. It’s friendly, like Harry giving her a kiss after a major success. 

“One step closer.” He takes another sip of his drink.

Hermione notices that it’s not champagne, but something much stronger: firewhiskey over ice, if she has to guess. She finds it odd, but if that’s how he wants to celebrate, then that’s his choice. 

She sighs and sits up, yawning. “I need to help clean up.”

“I’ll stay with you.” His voice is oddly sharp but she thinks nothing of it. 

As she bustles around, returning the room to order, the last few members of her team say goodnight. Only Theo remains, and he’s busy with his wand, making sure all the rubbish is rounded up. When everything is tidy once more, Hermione sits at the head of the conference table, sipping her third glass of champagne with satisfaction. It feels good— _so bloody good_ —to have brought to a conclusion such an important, high-profile case. Are there other cases? Of course there are. But she doesn’t want to worry about those right now. Tonight is for celebrating. 

Theo joins her in the adjacent chair, bringing a bottle of something dark and two low glasses. He pours a serving into each and pushes one towards her.

“To the biggest case of the decade.” He smirks and holds up his glass. “And to our beautiful and fearless leader, who held us together and brought it home.”

Hermione chuckles and clinks her glass with his, then they both toss back their drinks. It burns on its way down, and she feels the effects almost immediately. She is warmer, calmer, her smile easy. “Thank you, Theo. For everything. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

He nods once. “Too right. And I’ll be here beside you all the way. You never need to doubt me.”

She feels a twinge of something, a little knock at the door of her mind, alerting her that not everything is quite as she thinks. She’s felt this dozens of times over the past few months, however, and nothing sinister has materialised. 

With a grin, she leans back in her chair, closing her eyes and letting the events of the day replay in her mind. It was a good one, full of hurry and scurry, the tension of waiting to hear the results, and then elation upon learning they had carried the day. 

When she recalls the way Theo had helped her through the toughest spots, taking her aside and speaking the words she most needed to hear, she opens her eyes and smiles at him. It’s a bit doe-eyed, she registers faintly, but he’s her friend—one of her best friends, since all of her childhood relationships are strained at best. 

Theo grins at her, the expression familiar but oddly different. “Hermione?” He shuffles closer, as though he’s going to tell her something important. 

She leans forward in her chair, but thanks to the alcohol she’s consumed, she overbalances and nearly falls onto the floor. Theo catches her just in time, and she raises her head, laughing hysterically at the near miss. His eyes are bright, slightly wild, as he looks into hers, his hands still clasping her shoulders where he’s caught her. 

Then he kisses her. 

Hermione freezes as his lips move on hers, and there’s a heartbeat, an infinitesimal moment, where she nearly responds—not out of a desire to kiss _him_ , but instead a stirring of something she hasn’t felt in a long time. 

But she immediately thinks of Draco and as soon as _his_ smile, _his_ warm grey eyes, and the memory of _his_ hands flash in her mind, she pushes Theo away. 

His gaze is now hungry, the door to his heart thrown wide, and she sees unrepentant longing in his eyes. 

It’s like someone has poured cold water all over her, and her thoughts clear as she stares at him as though she’s never seen him before. “Theo? What—what are you doing?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a _very_ long time.” His voice is rough, ragged, as though it requires effort to force air across his vocal cords and put sound to his feelings. 

She’s astonished, completely caught off guard. “But… we’re friends, Theo!”

He smirks and slides his chair closer to her once more. “Friends, Hermione? Are you joking? I’ve seen more of you in the last six months—maybe even the last year—than your husband has! Where’s he been? _I_ have been by your side at every step. _I_ have put you first more than anybody else. And I know you feel the same, Hermione.” He leans forward and tries to kiss her again, but something inside her has snapped and roared to life. She pushes him off, her chair sliding backwards across the floor as she rises from it in one fluid motion. She’s only slightly dizzy from the sudden movement. 

Theo leans back in his chair with a dark smirk. “You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

She shakes her head, her heart shattered, and she grabs her wand and bag. As she Apparates home, his last words reverberate in her skull: “He doesn’t deserve you—he never has.”

===

The house is quiet as she pads quietly from the Arrival Room. Her heart is racing and her thoughts are jumbled as she seeks her husband, desperately afraid that somehow everything has been ruined.

She finds him in his study. He is sitting in his high, wing-backed chair facing the fire, and she almost misses him, but her eye is drawn to a subtle tilt of the glass in his hand. She nearly rushes in, but she pauses, takes a moment to replay what happened. Theo’s words—that he has seen more of her than her husband over the course of the year—wound her worse than anything physical she’s ever experienced, Bellatrix’s torture included. 

“Draco?” She enters the room almost fearfully—not of him but of the impact of everything Theo’s words implied. 

“You’re home.” His tone is hard, empty. In one fluid movement, he stands and faces her, tossing back what was left in the glass. He glances at a clock on the wall. “It’s earlier than usual.”

She bites her lip. “It’s after midnight.” Late nights have been the standard over the past few months, and in the weeks leading up to today’s ruling, she hadn’t returned home once before two in the morning. Every night she’s crept through the house into their room and slid into bed beside him without a sound, desperate for his warmth but loathe to disturb him.

“As I said. You’re a bit early.” There is no emotion in his voice. 

“We won our case.” She regrets the words as soon as she speaks them. 

Draco’s eyes flit over her, though what he’s looking for, she can’t guess. “Congratulations, I suppose. You’ve others, though, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes, dozens, but none as significant as this one.” She tries to remember the last time she talked to him about this case, but she’s having a hard time remembering the last conversation they had that lasted more than two minutes—if that could even be considered a conversation. 

He shrugs and says nothing for a moment, his eyes empty as he glances at her. “Well, goodnight, then.” It’s a short walk to the door and he manages to pass her without getting close. 

Hermione feels frantic, as though she is the last to understand that there is something very, very wrong. She wants to reach for him, but his body language tells her it wouldn’t be welcome. He is stiff and probably a little bit drunk, but she feels that if he walks out the door, everything will fall apart. He’s reached the threshold when she blurts out the only thing she’s been able to solidly focus on since arriving home. 

“Theo kissed me.”

He freezes, stands with his back to her for several long moments, and each breath she takes without a response from him feels like a knife to her chest. Finally, his shoulders dip almost imperceptibly, and he turns around, dragging his gaze up to hers. It is now that she sees how red his eyes are, how bloodshot, how tired he looks. 

“Why are you telling me this?” His tone is clipped, hard.

This is the last response she’d have ever expected, and she can’t help but frown. “I… I thought you’d want to know.”

He stares at the floor in front of her, then sighs. “All right. I suppose hearing it from you is better than the alternative. Now… now I know. Good night.” He turns to go once more.

“Draco!” She takes two steps forward and reaches for him, but stops when she’s still a few feet away. Her hand hangs limply in the air as she realises that it’s far too little. Her breath comes in ragged puffs as she fears that, somehow, it’s also far too late. “How can you just walk away? Don’t you care?” The words are laced with panic despite only coming out in a whisper.

Something flashes in his eyes as he looks back at her. Then, as though weighing his options very carefully, he turns to face her again and folds his arms over his chest. He stares at her for a long while, his brow furrowed and his gaze searching, questioning. Finally, he lets out a long breath. 

“All right, I’ll play along. Of course I _care_ , Hermione,” he bites out. “You _are_ my wife. I apologise for not reacting the way I should have; I suppose the import of the news eludes me. Tell me, how do you want me to respond?”

“The _import?_ ” Anger flares to life inside her. “Another man kissed me, and all you can say is ‘thanks for telling me?’” 

A fire sparks behind his piercing gaze. “I repeat: what do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you want to say, I suppose! I can’t believe how unaffected you are by this! If you came home and told me that some woman kissed you, I’d be angrier than you’ve ever seen me!” She doesn’t understand his passivity, his apparent apathy.

“I was angry, once, but I suppose I’ve merely become accustomed to the idea now.” He holds up his empty glass. “Not to mention, I tend to self-medicate. Old Ogden’s does wonders to numb the pain.”

“Accustomed to the idea?” She repeats his words in a whisper, hating the feel of them on her tongue.

Draco peers at her for a long time before finally scowling. “Do you mean to tell me… am I meant to believe that is the _first_ time?”

“First time? What do you mean? The first time for what?” 

He looks away, towards the window, and speaks through clenched teeth. “Are you telling me that tonight is the first time he’s kissed you?”

She recoils in shock, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. “Draco! Of course it’s the first time!” A few things slide into place in her mind. “Wait, what exactly are you suggesting?”

He shrugs, some of the hardness in his jaw lightening. For the first time, he looks to be at a loss. “I… I’ve thought… I’ve known how he’s felt about you for years, and…” He shifts his weight awkwardly. “All those late nights you spent with him, I… I just assumed…” He trails off, as though the words playing in his mind are too painful to speak aloud.

So she says it for him. “You think I’m sleeping with him?”

He flinches as though physically struck but doesn’t deny it.

Hermione drops into the nearest chair, the room is spinning faster and faster around her. She closes her eyes in an effort to make it stop. Her mind can’t grasp anything for more than a fleeting moment beyond the realisation that her husband thinks she has been having an affair. 

Hot tears wet her eyes, and she feels like she can’t take a full breath. How could this have happened? Her mind now searches for answers, frantically combing through everything that’s happened over the past year in an attempt to land on something solid, something she can point to and say, _there_. As the tears build and one slips down her cheek, she blinks, the whirring inside her coalescing into one thought.

“I don’t understand.” She cannot look at him, but she raises her eyes to his feet. He shifts his weight again, and she sees him unfold his arms, shove his hands into his pockets, pull them out again, and refold his arms. “Draco?”

He huffs out a long sigh and steps towards her, though he doesn’t get too close. They are only a few feet apart, but she feels as though there’s an ocean between them. She’s got to do something, so she forces herself to look at him. His eyes, too, are red-rimmed, shining as though he is also in danger of drowning. She wants to hold him, to touch his hand, his face, to feel his arms around her, gather strength from his own. 

“Talk to me, Draco. What do you mean, you’ve known how he feels about me?” It’s the one thought she can hold onto, something about Theo and not either of them. 

He scoffs and looks away, swallowing hard. He takes a few breaths. She tries to be patient. Her world is cracking apart before her eyes, but judging from his expression, his has been slowly crumbling for far longer. When he can speak, his voice is gruff, strained. “He’s in love with you. Has been for years.”

She shakes her head, frowning severely. “Theo? No, he’s… he’s just my friend! He’s like Harry! Back when Harry and I were closer.”

Draco gives her a hard frown. “Are you telling me that tonight is the first time you kissed?”

She flinches. “ _He_ kissed _me!_ I didn’t kiss him back, Draco.”

He looks sceptical, wary. “But all the time you’ve spent with him.” He drops to a shaky whisper. “All that time.”

Tears well, blurring her vision. “We were just working. I’m… I’m so sorry you ever thought… How long? How long have you doubted me?”

Looking away, he blinks rapidly, and she knows he’s trying hard not to fall apart. “At least a year. Hermione.”

A sob rips from her upon hearing her name from his lips. It is soft, reverent, imbued with all the affection he’s ever felt for her. She dares to hope that they can be salvaged. Then the rest of her tears fall, and she lets them, tucking her legs under her, desperate for him to come and mold her to him, to pull her close and kiss her temple and tell her he loves her. When was the last time they exchanged those words? 

_How has this happened??_

One question has been pounding for release, and when she can speak again, she asks without hesitation. “Why didn’t you say anything? If you thought I… How could you say nothing?”

He draws a shuddering breath and slumps to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. “I want you to be happy. Always. And you seemed so happy.”

Fresh sobs wrack her body and she buries her face in her hands. He’s thought, for over a year, that she was happy because of an affair with another man, but he’d loved her too much to say anything. When the flood of tears subsides, she looks up at him. He is thoughtful, staring at the floor in front of him. 

Hermione makes a decision. She climbs out of the chair and crawls, hands and knees, across the floor to him. His attention is immediately drawn by her movement, and he watches, wary, hopeful, as she nears. She stops beside him and takes his hand, the one that had been resting on his knee, and kisses it. He sucks in a breath, and she looks at him, sees him struggling to hold everything in, and she presses her lips to his. 

It has been a long time since they have really kissed, and she cannot remember the last time they made love, but this— _him_ —is everything, and she needs him to know it, to feel it, to trust it. Somehow she has failed him, and she’s determined to find out where she went wrong, but right now, it’s her job to begin rebuilding the trust she has so carelessly broken. Even though she’s never so much as even thought about sleeping with Theo, her husband, the man she loves with her entire soul, has believed it, and it’s ripping her apart.

The first kiss is hesitant, as though he isn’t sure what to do, and she can taste the firewhiskey on his lips. She doesn’t push; intimacy with her might be impossible for him right now. After trying to pour everything into the kiss, she slows it, eyes opening to see him. Tear streaks run down his cheeks and his brow is furrowed, but he hasn’t pushed her away. 

She ends the kiss and gently wipes his cheek with the pad of her thumb. He grabs her wrist and presses his lips to her pulse point; his grey eyes are dark, intense with emotion. 

Hermione clears her throat and takes his hand, threading her fingers through his. Her voice is strong when she speaks. “Draco. Let me be abundantly clear. I am not and I have _never_ been sleeping with Theo. I’ve never even considered it. I’ve never once wanted to. I love you, more than I can possibly express, and even though you and I have clearly been out of sync for some time, my heart has always been yours.”

His eyes close and fresh tears slide down his cheeks. Then he takes her face in his hands and kisses her again. He is demanding, almost punishing, but she lets him have whatever he wants. It isn’t long before his hands are wandering—hands she has missed, hands she has memorised, hands she knows as well as her own. Hands that have held her through the birth of three children, hands that have changed nappies and cleaned up sick babies and then rocked them to sleep. Hands that make her thrill when they brush her own, hands that make her scream when he’s driving her to the edge—hands that have gently brushed their daughters’ hair. 

Nothing makes sense except him, and she wants his hands all over her, right here, right now. She rasps his name as his lips leave hers to explore, and she cannot believe that she’s let things fall to the brink of collapse. How has she gone even a day without his lips on hers? How has she lasted months without the feel of his hands worshipping her body? 

He pulls her to him, lays her on the floor, casts a few cushioning charms beneath her because neither of them want to leave this spot but the hard marble is unforgiving. But they are magical, so the marble softens, flexes, bends as he moves over her, moves in her, moves with her, drawing them together towards the release they both crave. 

He whispers her name as he crests, a prayer on his lips as she tumbles with him. 

When they are spent, he collapses on her, still connected as one. He is the other half of her, and somehow, he’d believed that she’d given that away. She plays with his hair as his breathing evens out, her own blood cooling as her heart rests with him so close once more. 

The only sound for a long while is the fire crackling in the hearth. 

Then he turns his head to look at her, his heart and soul laid bare before her. “I love you, Hermione. Have I truly not lost you?”

Fresh tears spring to her eyes and she shakes her head vigorously. “Never, Draco. Never.” She kisses his forehead and he closes his eyes, something like peace settling on his features. “We have much to talk about.”

He presses a finger to her lips and smiles softly. “Tomorrow.” He pulls away to cast a few spells to clean them up, but he never moves from her side. He Conjures a blanket and covers them, leaving the floor in its altered, more comfortable state. Together, with their arms around each other, they fall asleep.

===

When the first rays of morning reach them, Hermione blinks in the sunlight, momentarily confused as to why she’s in Draco’s study on the floor. It all comes crashing back, and she sits up, anxious to find that Draco isn’t by her side.

The blanket he’d covered them with falls away and her eyes flit around the room, finally landing on him. He is sitting in a chair by the fire, though he has moved it so that he faces her now. His eyes find hers and they seem to drink her in, darkening upon seeing her bare skin. She thinks for a moment to cover herself, but then boldly chooses not to. He is her husband, and though her body has been through three children, she knows he still loves to look at her, and so she grants him this wish. 

Hermione settles back down on the floor, leaving the blanket around her waist and turning onto her side. She rests her head on her arm, never breaking away from his gaze. He is fully clothed and it looks like he’s had a shower. He’s holding a cup of steaming tea, and there’s a tray of food on the low table before the fire. She smiles at him, feeling comfortable in his presence despite everything that happened the night before, everything that might have gone horribly wrong. 

“Aria has eaten and is with the Potters for the day. If you want to get anything productive accomplished, I suggest you get dressed. Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll be too… distracted.” His eyes sweep over her, and she doesn’t think she’d mind terribly if they did spend the entire day distracted. 

It has been so long, after all, and her heart is desperate to be filled with him again. 

Enough of the Ministry, enough of cases and problems that never end, enough of the clawing and climbing to inch upward. Everything she has worked for has brought her to a place where her husband had thought she’d been having an affair for a year, and her co-worker, a man she’d thought of as a friend, had tried to kiss her.

Hermione sends him a smile. “You're awfully put together this morning."

He arches an eyebrow. "Ready for anything, I suppose."

"Even if that means I lure you back over here to take it all off?"

"Make no mistake, I fully intend to repeat last night's performance—preferably in our bed, as I'm not as young as I once was—but I really think we ought to talk first. I'll make your tea." He sets about pouring her a cup. 

Hermione stands and wraps the blanket around her, fashioning it into a kind of wrap, complete with sleeves and a belt to hold everything in place. She joins him beside the fire and takes her cup from him, knowing without hesitation that it is prepared exactly the way she likes. He has always known how she takes her tea.

She thanks him and sits in the chair opposite him. 

Draco is guarded but gives her a warm smile. "Good morning."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly ten. Your work has sent no fewer than three owls, wondering where you are, by the way." He sips his tea casually, but something tells her that how she responds next might be the most important thing she does all day. 

Turns out, it’s not a difficult choice at all. "I hope you told them I was having a quiet day at home."

He gazes at her stoically, nodding once. "I told them you'd respond once you woke up."

She sits across from him and he is outwardly calm. She can almost pretend that nothing is amiss, that they’re merely enjoying a late breakfast together before the business of the day sets in. 

They’d made love the night before as an expression of where their hearts belonged. It had been beautiful and healing, but it was only the beginning. One night cannot a year of betrayal erase, and there is much to talk through. The hard work of true understanding, true reconciliation, would begin now. She’s thankful that they have the whole day to be together. 

At least she knows that he wants her still, that there is hope for reconciling. She will do anything, but for now, despite wanting to smother him with her apologies, her words of love, her body, she can tell that this morning, he doesn’t want it. 

It’s not what he needs right now. 

They have work to do first, miles to go before they rest. She hopes with everything in her that there is a path forward.

So she sits and waits, sipping from her cup and forcing herself to exist in the silence, the waiting. She is far too apt to spout solutions, offer suggestions, try to fix everything—but some things require time and patience. She is good at neither. 

But Draco is worth any effort. She settles back, tucks her legs up under her, and draws a blanket over her lap. There was a time, not too long ago, when she used to sit with him in his study for hours. They might both read, side by side on the sofa, or one read and the other do work of some kind. She used to knit for the children; he used to draw. Everything had changed when she’d started working when Aria was six. The change had been slow, but she could see now that it had begun then and there. 

He had always supported her, encouraged her; he’d always had an ear for her to talk about her day, process something difficult, theorise and strategise over next steps. He’d been her best friend for so many years, but when she’d been partnered with Theo, something had changed. 

Theo was smart and witty; he made her laugh. There had always been something about Theo that reminded her of Harry, and since her relationship with Harry had been strained for years, she’d latched onto Theo in an attempt to fill that void. She can see, looking back now, how unfair that had been to Theo. 

The silence stretches, and while she’d thought it best to let him speak, let him guide this where he needs it to go, she wonders if perhaps, there is something she should say first. As soon as she thinks this, however, she knows the answer. 

Hermione sets her cup on the table, her hand trembling slightly. His gaze is drawn to her, walls still up in defense. She clears her throat. “I’m so sorry, Draco. For… everything with Theo. But more than that, for failing to see that you were hurting, for being so caught up in myself that I didn’t make time for us. The idea of you feeling betrayed for as long as you say makes me physically ill.”

He meets her gaze, his expression wary. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it, then finally closes his eyes and sighs. “Hermione, I can’t really blame him for falling in love with you. Lesser men have done so.” She hates that he’s talking about himself. “Will you… tell me what happened?” He speaks in a rush, as though afraid he won’t have the strength to get it all out. “Even if I’ll hate it. I want to hear it all. You say that you’ve not been sleeping with him, so why did he think it was okay to kiss you? How did he come to be under the impression that you are not as committed to me as the vows we spoke would suggest?” There is deep pain in his eyes.

“I can’t really say why he thought that.” She shuts her eyes tight, already fighting the urge to cry. “We were in the office late with the rest of our team, celebrating the conclusion of a very big case. When everyone decided to call it a night, I stayed to get the room back in order. Theo did too. We’d both had some champagne, but then he brought out some whiskey and poured us both some. I thought it was just a final drink together to celebrate. We hadn’t even been talking long when he kissed me.”

“What did you do?” His jaw is tight, his nostrils flared, and she knows he’s bracing himself for some kind of confession from her that might break the fragile peace. 

“I was shocked! I pushed him away and asked him what he was doing. He said it was something he’d been wanting to do for a long time. When I argued that we were friends, he said something that tore my heart in two. He… he said I must be joking. That I’d spent more time with him in the last year than I’d spent with you.” She grips her cup tightly and chances a look at him. “Is that true, Draco? Have I really neglected you, neglected us, so badly?”

His gaze darts away and he stares at the fire. It’s a long moment before he speaks. “I haven’t kept a tally, but your presence has been increasingly absent for the last few years. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if you have seen him more than me.”

She wishes beyond anything that she hadn’t been so blind. “Then he tried to kiss me again and I left. I came straight home.” It feels like the floor might as well open up and swallow her whole. Draco is her everything, and somehow, she’d gotten so caught up in herself that she might have destroyed their relationship. 

“That still doesn’t explain why he thought he had the right to kiss you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I only know that I felt a strong connection to him in the same way I feel for Harry.”

His jaw tightens again and pain flashes through his eyes before he can stop it. 

She grits her teeth. “And as you well know, I’ve never felt anything for Harry but friendship. I truly had no idea that Theo has feelings for me. I’d never have been so familiar with him, so close. I think, in some ways, he filled a void left by you.” He opens his mouth to speak, and she can tell he is about to vehemently object. She holds up a hand. “Not a void of your making, Draco. But I gradually withdrew myself from you, from our family—unintentionally, of course—and my heart knew it and missed you. Maybe being in the company of your friend, someone with similar characteristics and background, made me not feel quite as estranged as I should have.” She pauses and bites her lip. “As much as I recognise that I have made mistakes, Draco, _you didn’t say anything_.” When her gaze lands on him, he’s looking at her once more. “Why were you content to go on thinking I was having an affair?”

Draco frowns and spins his teacup slowly in his hands. “I suppose it’s because… since the very beginning, when we first started dating, I’ve always expected that you would wake up and realise you’d made a mistake. That you should have picked Charlie instead of me. I think, to some extent, I bought into everything that everyone has ever said about us: that you’re vastly too good for me, that I can’t possibly make you happy—not for long, anyway. There’s a part of me that has always feared that something like this would happen.”

“What do you mean?” Anxious anger flares in her heart. “You’ve always thought I would someday cheat on you?”

“No, not—not exactly.” A pause stretches between them as he seems to search for what to say. “You have my heart, Hermione.” His voice cracks and tears well in her eyes. “My whole heart, such that it is, but you deserve so much more. It’s not that I’ve been expecting you to fall for someone else, it’s more that I’ve lived every day with the understanding, the expectation, that someday you’d wake up and realise how much better you could do.”

That does it. 

Tears stream down her cheeks as her heart aches for the most important person in her life, the father of her children, the best man she’s ever known. She wants to go to him, to kiss away the pain, the doubt, the fear, but there’s something in his posture that tells her no, it’s not time for that.

“Your friends still barely tolerate me. We’re only grudgingly included in things now because our children have befriended theirs. Every one of them would gladly leave me out if they could get away with it. And your parents—they _hate_ me. Not that I can blame them.” He seems defeated. 

“I still think you should have said something.” 

He snorts, rolls his eyes. “What good would that have done? You wouldn’t have believed me if I had.”

She winces at the truth of his statement; she likely would have dismissed his concerns as being ridiculous or even jealousy. 

“Not to mention, I had no interest in pushing you towards him any faster than I thought you were already going.” He shakes his head. “As long as I said nothing, you seemed content to stay with me. Had I broached the subject, especially in the last six months or so, I felt certain it would push you into feeling that you had to choose—and I knew, beyond any doubt, that you wouldn’t choose me again.”

Tears well in her eyes once more but she faces him resolutely. “You’re wrong. I chose you then, and I choose you now. I choose you every day, that’s what marriage is all about! It’s not about fluttery feelings of attraction, or the need to jump you every time I see you.” Merlin, how long has it been since they’d actually made love? Months, or… had it possibly been a year? 

She wants to ask if he’s been choosing her—not that she suspects him of cheating, but it seems that he’s somewhat given up on her. Instead, she fixes him with a fierce look. “It doesn’t make sense that you mentioning your concerns would automatically send me running into his arms. That’s absurd, Draco.”

“I’d been watching you pull away for about two years by that point, Hermione.” His eyes flash with hurt. “How was I to know that it was only because of a ridiculous work ethic and penchant for prioritising me and the children beneath your drive for upward movement in the Ministry? It was more plausible to me that you were tired of me than you simply being too caught up in your job. You, who always schedules her life so meticulously.”

Just then, another owl arrives, tapping impatiently at the window. Draco huffs out a breath and stands to admit the bird. He removes the note attached to its leg, glances at it briefly, then hands it to her as he returns to his seat.

Hermione recognizes Theo's handwriting. Part of her wants to rip it to shreds.

"Fourth owl," Draco quips from behind his teacup. "They must miss you."

She sets her jaw and rips open the note. It's nothing much, just a personal inquiry into her plans for the day, but she sees Theo's agitation in the harsh scratch of his words. She nearly throws the note into the fire but then realises that trust has been fractured. Instead she wads it up. "Draco. Catch." With a flick of her wrist, she sends the note flying.

He catches it deftly; the Seeker skills he worked so hard to hone shine easily in his quick reflexes. With a quirked eyebrow, he opens the note, then scowls immediately. "He has some nerve. May I?" 

"Of course."

With more dark satisfaction than she’d expected, Draco tosses the note into the fire. Before it reaches the flames, however, he shoots it with a jet of red from his wand, causing it to explode as it hits the flames. A cascade of gold sparks is absorbed by the fire. 

It’s beautiful, she thinks, and she desperately wants to experience beautiful moments with the man sitting across from her. No time like the present to begin. 

“I suppose I ought to respond.”

Draco Conjures a quill and ink well on the coffee table for her. He is watching her with thinly veiled tension in his gaze.

She starts to tell them she'll be taking the day off but then pauses and writes that it will be a week before they see her again. When the note is finished, she begins to fold it in preparation for sending it, but then has a different thought. She uses her wand to float it over to Draco, who takes it with surprise in his eyes. He probably thinks it’s for Theo. 

When he looks at the letter properly, his eyes flick up to meet hers. “Do you mean this? You’re really taking a week off?”

“Of course I mean it.”

He folds it up neatly, meticulously, the creases crisp and sharp. With a wave, he sends it back to her. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Hermione seals and attaches the note to the owl’s leg. “I know you didn’t. But you, and us, are far more important than my job.” When the owl is safely on its way, she sighs. “You’re right about my ridiculous work ethic. Although, I’m not sure that’s quite it; I think it’s a strong desire to prove myself—always. If I can solve more cases, help more people or magical creatures, if I can just do one more thing, that will be enough.” She shakes her head with a sudden exhaustion. “But it’s never enough—not for them, and not for me.”

“You _are_ enough.” His words are firm, resolute. “You’re everything to me, to our children.”

Tears threaten once more. “That life, where work is my world… that’s not the life I want. The life I want is with you. Aria has only one more year until she goes to Hogwarts! Then it’s just you and me for most of the year. I don’t want to walk away from the Hogwarts Express that day and not know you.”

He nods very slowly. “I… feel the same way.”

She gives him a small smile. “What do you think I should do with my time off?”

“You mentioned Aria. And… you really ought to spend some time getting to know her. For the last few years, she’s seen you less and less. And when you have been with her, you haven’t exactly been present. She deserves to know you, to know how amazing you are.” 

A tear tracks down her cheek. “You’re absolutely right.” 

After a few long, comfortably silent minutes, she speaks again. “So what about us?”

“What about us?”

She huffs. “Draco, something is very wrong if you were content to say nothing about something so egregious as a year-long affair. When were you going to say something? What was your plan? You’ve believed the worst of me, yet did nothing.”

He frowns and looks into the fire. “It’s like I told you. At some point, I bought into the idea that you deserve better than me, and I feel like I’ve just sort of been half expecting, half waiting for you to realise the same thing and to leave me.”

She goes through a myriad of emotions upon hearing his words: anger, heartbreak, sadness. Fresh tears prick her eyes. For some reason, she lands on angry. “Were my words not enough? The vows we spoke when we married, were they not enough? If you’d asked me about Theo… there’s no telling what would have happened, I suppose, but I can guarantee that your inquiry would not have sent me into his arms. That’s absurd. Draco, I love _you_. You are my favorite person, and you can make me laugh like no one else, think like no one else—you bring me so much happiness. You’ve never had anything to worry about.”

“But Hermione, you gave up everything. For me.” He spreads his hands. “My parents were the most accepting of us, shockingly, because my mother recognised that if she wanted any chance at being involved in the lives of her grandchildren, something needed to change—and it wasn’t with us. But that doesn’t mean it was easy. My father still fights his knee-jerk reactions.”

She sighs. “Your parents have been grudgingly supportive. I think they’ve finally settled on acceptance. With my friends, I know that a lot of things changed when we decided to go public with our relationship. I understand what you mean, saying that I gave up a lot for you, but they are the ones that made me choose! And I wasn’t about to choose a life that didn’t include you. What kind of friends are they if they don’t want me to be happy? Who are they to say what or who should make me happy? Do I miss them? Of course I do. When we’re with them, when our children are together, it’s strained. But that’s on them. We’ve done nothing wrong. They’re choosing to keep this distance. And, frankly, I’m not going to apologise for it. I’m not going to apologise for _you. Ever_. If they don’t want to have us truly in their lives, that’s their loss. Because I think you and I make a really good team.”

“I feel like they’re just waiting for us to fail.”

Hermione cringes at a few memories, things her friends have said to her about Draco. It is true; they have all been expecting that _he_ would fail _her_ , that he would get tired of her or move on to someone better. She can count on one hand the number of occasions a snide comment wasn’t made. 

“I can’t imagine how you must have felt this year, believing the worst of me. I don’t know how to regain your trust.”

“Regain my trust?” He sounds surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Even though I didn’t have an affair with Theo, for you, it’s as though I did.”

He’s thoughtful for a long moment. “Well, I do believe you, you know. About… everything. It’s just going to take some time for my first reactions to be in line with that belief.”

“Then I’ll leave my job.”

He regards her quietly, then finally says, “Well, I’m not going to complain about the idea of my wife not spending all of her days with a man who’s in love with her. He tried to kiss you last night!”

“It’s done, then. After this week that I’m taking off, I will give my notice.” She can tell he doesn’t quite believe her. So she gets up and goes to the coffee table, sitting near the middle. “I’m going to do everything I need to do. I’m going to treat this as though I _was_ having an affair. We have to work to patch this up. Which means I will tell you everywhere I go, and you can read all of my mail. I want to get to where your first thoughts aren’t in doubt of me. I need to regain your trust. And I’m going to do it. But you have to meet me halfway. You have to talk to me. You have to tell me your thoughts, tell me your insecurities. Tell me what scares you. Because if you don’t communicate, I can’t put you at ease. And I want to. I love you so much.”

Draco sits tall and looks at her. He steeples his fingers, then says, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I have to start by talking to you and telling you what I’m thinking and feeling. And… I will.” He goes to the table and sits down beside her. 

It’s like they’re on a park bench, sitting beside each other but not facing one another. He takes her hand, twines his fingers with hers, then brings their joint hands to rest on his leg. He’s still facing forward. 

“I do believe that you haven’t been sleeping with him. But you still chose to spend all of your time with someone else. That hurt. And it’s going to take some time for me to work through.”

She squeezes his hand. “I know. I completely understand. And I don’t blame you, and it’s okay. Take whatever time you need. Just know that I’m here, anytime you want. I will be here.”

He kisses her hand and turns to look at her. “I spent this morning trying to remember when the last time was that we made love like that.”

She shuts her eyes, shakes her head. “I can’t remember, either. Birthdays and anniversaries…”

He chuckles. “They don’t count.”

“No.” 

“I think… that’s one area where I’d like to try and make up for lost time.”

She smirks. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I quite remembered how much I enjoyed you. How much I’ve missed you. The fact that I know you, that I know how you like to be kissed, how you like to be touched. I missed the security of knowing that.”

She smiles. “Well, you certainly haven’t forgotten.”

“That’s good to know.” He laughs. “I’d like to, uh, try it again, if that’s okay with you.”

She nods. “You did say something about the bed, though?”

“Yes. The bed. _Our_ bed.”

THE END

===

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, dreamsofdramione, for working with me literally to the last minute on not only the story, but the title and summary and rating and tagging and noting as well. I also recruited not ONE but TWO Brit-pickers, so I really hope this passes muster. Thanks to weestarmeggie & Lunamionny for Brit-picking work!
> 
> Title inspired by lyrics from "All We Know" by The Chainsmokers.
> 
> The prompt I chose was by rzzmg: Marriage isn't easy, especially for an established couple of 15 years who are slowly growing apart, much to the cruel delight of their friends and family around them who never liked the relationship to begin with.


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